


Too Far

by TheSleeplessWriter



Series: An Agreement of Sorts [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bruises, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Spanking, Strapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleeplessWriter/pseuds/TheSleeplessWriter
Summary: Sherlock risks his life once again, and John steps over the line in trying to amend that.





	1. Chapter 1

"Don't you fucking dare." John muttered these words to himself as he watched from across the food court as Sherlock wriggled through the crowd of terrified people. He had that pompous air to him, the I'm-cleverer-than-you look on his face. A panicky man stood in the center of the mall, holding a .22 gun to the temple of a trembling woman. Her bents knees wobbled wildly as she was forced to be held at his chest. Her pale green eyes darted around the room before closing them tightly, perhaps making peace with whichever god she suddenly believed in. She could tell his finger was pressed close to the trigger and that the slightest movement would ensure her demise.

Sherlock walked directly up to the armed man, holding his arms behind his back. Moments ago, this man has fired multiple shots to the ceiling before grabbing the first person he could find hostage. The armed police were just at that moment arriving, but did not fire for fear for the woman's life.

"What is it that you hope to gain?" Sherlock asked, watching him carefully. The man readjusted his grip on the woman's torso, wondering to himself what kind of madman was this curly-haired bloke in the big coat. 

"Um...Money. I want money. 500,00 pounds in exchange for her life." He stammered, in his confusion not realizing how ridiculous his claim was. 

"Mr..." Sherlock waited for the man to identify himself.

"Cane."

"Mr. Cane. Let's say this scenario works. We miraculously summon half a million pounds and you release this woman. You are arrested, and this money is withdrawn. Did you not think it through?" There was teasing in his last sentence, the irritating kind that made one want to act out. The man shifted his gun, pressing it harder to the woman's temple. She clasped her hands together so tight the knuckles became white. Her eyes scanned the now empty food court, which had been evacuated of civilians. All that remained were police.

"Please, oh please." She begged, frightened tears slipping from her eyes. 

"You simply want people to notice you. I know your kind. Below average grades, low I.Q, lonely social life. You look like someone was asked to create the most generic, forgettable man possible. Mud colored hair and eyes, with pores so large I could stick my finger in them.You are just a face in the crowd, not enough to be remembered for more than half a second. This is your moment, your fame." Sherlock leaned close to the anxious man, gazing at him levelly. "You are a simple attention whore."

Cane growled low in his throat and rapidly released the woman, grabbing Sherlock instead before anyone could so much as blink. The small gun now dug amidst his curly locks and pressing against his temple. Not expecting this, Sherlock breathed hard, formulating a plan. John's heart began racing, and his hands itched for the gun he left at home. 

'You bastard. You stupid, idiotic son of a bitch.' He thought, exhaling a shaky breath. He ever so wanted to push aside the policemen, march straight to the brunette man, and throttle him. And then perhaps throttle Sherlock. He simply didn't want to mess with the .22 gun, though. The bullet could hit Sherlock or perhaps an innocent policeman who is just doing their job.

"What is the point of killing me? You'll just face a more serious charge, murder. We both lose that way. I lose my life, you lose the chance to ever leave a prison." Sherlock tried to apply logic, hoping it was enough for Cane to release him. His pale hands clenched into fists as he felt the metal tip of the gun scrape against his temple.

Cane looked to the floor and loosened his grip, which was just enough for Sherlock to kick his leg out and trip him. He fell to the floor, waving his gun wildly as he fired the gun as a last-ditch attempt. John felt his throat tighten and his head pound, seeing a few fly near Sherlock.

Sherlock kicked the gun out of Cane's reach, pulling him up roughly as John and the policemen rushed in. 

"Are you okay?" John asked his voice loud and panicked, his dark eyes wide. He looked Sherlock up and down, checking for injuries. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Sherlock assured. His voice was short of breath yet a slight smile was on his face. He felt exhilarated, as if he were on top of the world. His heart was beating so fast he felt it could rip through his chest. He stretched open his coat, a single tiny hole peeking through. 

"Close but no cigar." He said in an attempt at a Western drawl, his lip curling to the right.

The feeling of panic and fear washed away from John's mind, and all he felt was anger. He was smiling, like this was all just a fun little game. 

"You nearly died!" He shouted, just now the realization setting in. He almost died. Died. As in permanently gone.

"But lo, I did not." Sherlock replied, irritation setting in his voice. He had outsmarted the villain and without getting injured. Why was John not proud?

"You nearly died because of one of the most stupid, show-off moves I've ever seen you make! You could have allowed the police to handle it, but nooooo. Sherlock Holmes had to prove how clever he was!" John looked around, realizing that everyone else in the surrounding area was giving him strange looks. He looked down to his phone, ordering a cab.

"Fine, fine. I'm sorry. Sorry you're such an overreacting, negative prick!" Sherlock whisper-shouted, crossing his arms irritatedly. 

The two locked eyes in an angry glare, neither wanting to look away. To look away was to admit defeat. A cheerful ding disrupted the mood. John eventually broke the gaze and glanced at his phone. 

His voice was low and his teeth gritted as he said, "Cabbie's here."


	2. Chapter 2

It took John all his willpower to not haul Sherlock over his knee and smack him in the cabbie, right then and there. His head was a mess, filled with relief, shock, and most of all, indignation. How could he be so stupid, so reckless? And then defend his actions? Sherlock didn't care an iota for his life, and was willing to risk it just so he could have fun and show off. He would walk straight off a bridge if it meant proving someone wrong. 'Well' John thought.'I'm not going to allow this dangerous mentality to continue.' The second they entered their flat, John began speaking, fighting to keep his voice down. 

"We need to talk about this. There was a bloody hole in your coat, for fuck's sake! You almost died!" John said, focusing on breathing slowly and surely to calm himself down. His arms were crossed and a grim expression painted his face. He stood in the living room, surround by papers that were strewn across the room haphazardly. Sherlock had went crazy this morning looking for some sheet music. 

Sherlock grimaced at the repeated phrase. "You sound like a broken record." He was lazily wandering around the room, purposefully ignoring John's gaze. "Besides, Cane was arrested and no one was hurt. Shouldn't you be happy, tossing me a fucking biscuit or something?" He opened a few books, flipped through them, and shut them harshly before returning them to the shelf. 

'So this is how he wants it.' John thought. "Alright, let's go." John ordered, nearing Sherlock and grabbing his arm to lead him upstairs. Sherlock almost pulled away but instead sighed dramatically and followed. 

John ignored the little feeling in the back of his mind, the one telling him he was too upset, that he needed to calm down. Each time he started to falter, the image of the shiny gun firmly pressed against Sherlock's head reignited his drive. John just wanted to tell him, to instill in that curly head, that his life was not a piece of rubbish you can just pick up and throw away. As they entered John's room, John sighed and rubbed his eyes. His hands were shaking. The hand tremble he gained after coming home from war was almost completely eradicated now that he lived with Sherlock. Still, his hands shook only when he was angry.

"I had the entire bloody thing under control!" Sherlock snapped before John could even draw in a breath to speak. His arms were crossed and his eyes were moody.

John's eyes darkened considerably, so that they were now a stormy grey-blue. He took hold of Sherlock's arm once again, this time sitting on his bed and hauling the younger man over his knees.Wasting no time, he immediately began raining down swats on Sherlock's trousers-clad arse. Half Sherlock's body lay across the bed, and he rested his head in his crossed arms. Defiantly, he promised himself to not make a sound. He bit back yelps and clenched his fists.

The smacks were harsh and anger-fueled, yet still, Sherlock didn't say a word. He was choosing to be difficult today. Frustrated, John shifted and began undoing his belt. He was going nowhere like this. Sherlock's ears pricked at the metallic clinking of the buckle and he looked up.

His voice was haughty as he spoke. "I knew what I was doing. I calculated the probability of getting shot and-"

A loud snapping sound interrupted his defense. At first, the noise was all he noticed. A few seconds later, the pain began to truly register and before he could finish his whine of "Oh, shit", another strike followed. And another. The belt came down in rapid succession, never allowing him a moment to breathe or realize the pain. His legs began kicking out after each swat.

John was striving for the usual pleas near the end of a spanking. For Sherlock to admit he was too reckless, for him to promise he wouldn't do something so stupid again. He wanted a reaction, something to show they were almost done. his waiting for these words, he became blind to everything else. Sherlock remained stubborn and silent, so John didn't stop until his shoulder started feeling sore. As he stopped to rub at his shoulder, he heard the very quiet, muffled sound of Sherlock crying. John's heart dropped to his shoes, and he felt like he was abruptly woken up. Oh, fuck. How long had they been going? John gently rubbed Sherlock's shoulders. 

Oh, shit. He had messed up royally. All John could think of was everything he had done wrong and forgotten to do in his anger.He hadn't kept track of time, he hadn't given a lecture. He hadn't given himself time to calm down. Bloody hell, he hadn't even thought to take down his trousers. John grimaced to think of the state of Sherlock's backside. 

He cleared his throat before asking softly, "Sherlock?"

Sherlock shoved off John's touch and stiffly stood, sniffling and avoiding John's eyes. Without saying a word, he stalked off to his bedroom. John groaned and stood, the bed creaking morosely. Feeling lost, he made his way to Mrs Hudson's flat, hoping she was in. His stomach felt sick and his head ached.

Mrs Hudson opened the door quickly, as if she had been expecting the visit. "John, I heard loud noises and- oh, you look unwell. I'll make you a cuppa." She ushered him in.

John gave a half-smile at her motherly care. He followed her into the kitchen, struggling to think of what to say and how to say it. "Mrs Hudson? You know that Sherlock and I do this... this thing, right?" He waited for her to nod, as he wasn't exactly ready to spill the details. "Well, I messed up. I went too far and I think I hurt him." John accepted the cup of tea with a quick thank you and continued. "I'm not sure what to do."

Mrs Hudson spent a moment thinking on these words before speaking. "How badly hurt are you talking about?" 

"Um, well. He's probably got bruises, but I don't know for sure." John said, looking down into his cup of tea as if it could provide him answers. 

"Talk to him, apologize. It's not rocket science." She held a bit of the same tone Sherlock used when insulting Anderson.

John drummed his hands on Mrs Hudson's table. "Okay. I'm not very good at apologizing." The once faint memory returned of his mother forcing John to say the simple words "I'm sorry" to Harry after knocking over her block castle.

"John Hamish Watson, (How did she know his middle name?) were you not a soldier in the army? Are you afraid of a simple apology?" She asked firmly, her voice carrying the stern toughness of his old drill sergeant.It was actually a little terrifying, and he bit back the urge to reply "No Ma'am.".

Her voice dropped to a kinder tone. "I know he needs it, but you must be careful with him. If you hurt him like that once more, it's your head in my cupboard." Despite her voice being sweet as honey, the last sentence made John gulp and nod.He thanked her for the advice and tea before walking back to the stairs, knowing his every step was going to be filled with dread and regret.


	3. Chapter 3

John paused when he reached the door to Sherlock's room. He stared into the rich brown wood as if it could tell him what to say. He had prepared his apology prior, but could feel each carefully selected word disappearing into mist. He squared his shoulders and raised his fist to knock. Before his hand could touch the door, a hoarse voice from within the room interrupted him.

"Come in." 

John nodded to himself and opened the door, finding Sherlock sprawled on his bed. He was laying on his stomach, his face hidden by his arms. His trousers were not fastened but instead hung loosely on his hips, suggesting he had just pulled them up.

John entered and gingerly seated himself on the corner of Sherlock's bed. He picked at the dark blue sheets before speaking. 

"Sherlock, we- we need to talk." John was now using his "Doctor Watson" voice. Just how Sherlock had nicknamed his stern, authoritative voice Captain Watson, his softer, kinder voice was named Doctor Watson. "Are there bruises?" John asked, not even sure if he wanted to know. He hated himself for losing control.

The curls bounced as Sherlock nodded.

"Could I see?" As much as John didn't want to see what he had done to Sherlock, he knew that he needed to. 

Sherlock slowly lifted his head as if it held the weight of the world. He shifted to a kneeling position, his back facing John. Still without saying a word, Sherlock shoved down his trousers.

"Fuck." John whispered to himself. Sherlock's arse was a fading pink that was littered with bruises. The violet and blue smudges shoved a stake into John's heart and he felt sick.

"Alright. Love, can you look at me?" 

Sherlock pulled his trousers back up and turned to face John. His red-rimmed eyes climbed a ladder to meet John's gaze,

"I'm-well... I'm absolute shit at apologies, but I need you to know that I'm sorry. Completely sorry. Because I fucked up and did everything wrong. I ended up really hurting you. You put a ridiculous amount of trust in me and I totally failed you." John's voice became thick with emotion and he cursed himself for the tears that stung his eyes. "If you want to stop this, this- whatever the hell it is we're doing, I understand. It would be absolutely reasonable." John took in a few haggard breathes and returned to picking at the sheets.

Sherlock had been carefully eyeing John, his hands picking his hangnails. That was a bad habit he was trying to break. He raked his teeth against his bottom lip and sighed before speaking.

"Do you have any idea why I let you do this? No really. You..." Sherlock struggled for the right words. "You keep me alive, keep me sane. You've kept me from wandering off the deep end all these months. When I've fucked up and done something reckless, you're always there to draw me away from the edge. Sure, there's punishment but after, I feel safe, cared for. Because you do care, John. You genuinely want me to be a better, more responsible person. It's my fault you always have to be doing this. I'm not used to practicing safety, I'm used to closing my eyes and running towards the most dangerous situation I can find."

Sherlock breathed deeply and looked up, locking eyes with John. "I'll try harder to stay safe. Really, properly try, not half-arse it like normal." He continued picking at his hangnails. "I didn't want to admit I was wrong because I was still scared. I didn't want to think about it, about being a touch of a finger from death. Admitting I was wrong was like admitting it to myself, and that was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I acted like an absolute prick. I pushed you well over the edge."

"I never want to do that to you again. Never. It was like I became blind and all I wanted was reaction." John wished he could reset the whole day, start over and make things right. "Why didn't you fight? You were more than capable to stand and leave."

"When I place myself over your knee, I lose a say. It becomes your choice on how to handle it." 

"But I handled it wrong without noticing." A lightbulb flashed on in John's head. "We need a word. A safeword for if the situation gets out of hand. So today will never happen again. Once the word is said, everything stops and we can talk things out." 

"Bloodhound, the word is bloodhound." Sherlock replied after consideration.

John nodded. "It'll do."

Today's events would forever be seared in John's memory, no matter how much he wanted to forget it. Just as John cared for Sherlock, Bloodhound would regulate John. 

John opened his arms wide and cocked his head to the left. "C'mon."

"What?" Sherlock said in confusion.

"I still owe you a cuddle." 

Sherlock hesitated before accepting the hug, holding John tight. He rested his head atop John's shoulder, wild curls tickling John's cheek. The two lost track of how long they sat locked in the embrace, drinking in comfort and warmth. 

A hug was not going to fix everything or erase today's events, but it might make things feel just a bit better.

**Author's Note:**

> And here arrives another part to this series! I swear this series is taking over my account XD I appreciate all the kudos, kind comments, and constructive criticism. I hope you enjoyed it :)


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